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The Mouse Diaries:
Halfway There, Part II
*Click*
She lost. I had them all read in a week and a half, with the exception of the books full of names. I devour stories like a school of piranha. The Lioness was so delighted with me, that I now help reshelf books for a couple of hours, every other day, in return for being allowed to sign out whatever I want. I don't have a card yet, since I don't have an official name. Shawnie was delighted with the idea, because the walk there and back gives me exercise. And, being at the library allows me to be around other people, which is invaluable in redeveloping my social skills.
Dave's Personal Log,
While no one was more proud of the peanut-butter splotched mouse-boy than I was, already he was getting chinks in his innocence. Nothing overt, just yet, but some of the humans would look at him funny, or cross to the other side of the isle, when he wandered past. There was one memorable idiot who said, flat out, that only a human volunteer could help him out. Poor Chris took that one badly. He's the most generous, helpful soul I know, and to be just, so completely shut out like that, it really hurt him.
The thing is, much as I badly want to protect him from stuff like this, I can't. To do so would make him totally dependant on me. I have to do nothing; because that's the only way he'll once again become the off-the-wall, deeply caring man who meant so very much to me.
*Click*
I have to choose a name for myself, and I've been pondering the mater, at great length. Something odd happened, that really made me wonder. I was re-reading C.S. Lewis' "The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe", when I misread one of the story's most memorable lines, in a rather peculiar way, "It's always winter, here, and never 'Chris Mouse.'" Because that's what they named me at the hospital, it really got me thinking. Slowly, I'm getting some of my human memories back, and because of them, I know I really am something of a Christmas spirit. My greatest joy is in doing things for other people, like my job at the library.
If I was pure white, Chrystalfur Snow, would be just lovely. However, I have a body that looks like I was spattered in peanut butter sauce. Still, I do like Chrystalfur, as a deliberate corruption of Christopher, the traditional, formal version of 'Chris'. True as well, one of the pleasure reading books I took out was one on crystals and gems. I feel oddly drawn to them.
Then there is 'Achesha'. It's my nickname; Shawnie first coined it, that's what 'Cheshire' sounds like, with her accent. I'd started her, one to many times by accidentally sneaking up on her and starting the crap out of the big Collie-Lady.
"Goodness you gave me a fair start, you did." She said, one afternoon, "You keep popping up, just like a Cheshire Cat." There was also my tendency to disappear, for long stretches of time, either in my room, or the backyard, or the park, muzzle deep in a book; that made the nickname stick. Come to think of it, Achesha Crysalfur is also very pretty.
It's actually kind of funny, the number of times Roger has come darting along, calling out for me, or the twins chewing me out from up a tree, or Chester, ambling in that lazy stride of his, one minute, then practically blowing though the sound barrier, the next, he runs so fast. The parks, I can't believe I didn't mention that, before now. You can barely go four blocks in Xandu, without finding a park, or a playground, or something. The Furries are major believers in having lots and lots of greenery around. Matter of fact, the biggest park in town is literally known simply as The Park, because it takes up at least twelve square blocks and is more or less, the social center of Xandu.
Back to first names though. I've also been considering: Benjamin, Nathaniel, Jonathan, James, and a couple of others. I've certainly gotten plenty of encouragement from the others. It's simply amazing how supportive my housemates have been. As much as I hate to disappoint Chester, it's not going to be Snuffles, Cuddles, Mousey, or any of the other affectionate names he likes. Much as I'm actually fond of curling up with him, when he needs me, I simply can't be his living stuffed animal, for the rest of my life.
*Click*
I'm starting to feel really sick, and not in a doctor way. The Cook, who really is named Cook, is seriously starting to give me the creeps. I keep coming away from her lessons, with a serious case of raised hackles. I've noticed the others are starting to avoid the kitchen. I'm beginning to think that's a good idea, myself. It's like those old, human lessons about not letting an adult touch you funny. Well, I'm distinctly beginning to feel like she's done that, to the inside of my head.
*Click*
"Have you put any thought into your last name?" the new, volunteer cook asked me, in her Welsh accent.
She was as stunning a specimen of female mousehood as I'd ever seen. A fawn brown coat, topped with flaming red hair. For the first week or so, until she toned it down a couple of notches, every time I walked into the kitchen, I had an urge to croon, "Oh she's a brick-house!" at the top of my lungs. She'd taken up the job of feeding us, after the previous cook had stormed out in a massive fit of temper, over the fact that the kitchen, like the rest of the Halfway House, ran mostly on donations.
"No, I haven't really given it much thought. Picking out a first name is hard enough as it is." I replied, honestly enough.
She blushed, her light brown fur turning a soft lilac color. "Well, you've always looked like a Lloyd to me. You can take it or leave it, I'm just saying, is all." She turned away, but I knew enough about tail body language to see that she had wanted to tell me this for a long time; she'd just lacked the courage. And now she was embarrassed to have even brought it up.
I snickered lightly, "You do know who Christopher Lloyd is?"
"Aye, I do. And you're just as mildly daft in the head, as he is." There was the longest pause, and she continued, muttering almost too quiet for me to hear, even with my big, mousey ears, "And I think the world's a much brighter place, because of it." I could tell from her tail, and the mouse-girl's hunched over body, that her cheeks had to be absolutely scarlet by now.
Dave's Personal Log,
Oh, my ears and whiskers, if I'd had any idea what Josephine Cook was up too, I would have smashed the door down; interference, be damned. She wasn't a Crusader plant, but lemme tell you, she did about as much damage. Shawnie nearly went silver, as it was. Apparently, Josephine had been one of the Anti-Furry bigots, for most of her life, but with the onset of her golden years, she decided that was one prejudice she wanted to let go of. That's why she became their cook, in the first place.
Unfortunately, she did a real tail-first job of it. Apparently, she'd been taking everyone aside at odd moments and seriously giving them lessons in the unvarnished truth, from the Crusader's point of view. It was Josephine's idea that, if they knew what they were up against, it would make them stronger. Instead, she terrified the crap out of them, to the point were Shawnie was the only one who could physically walk into the kitchen. Everyone else was now badly afraid of the old cook.
The story of her departure was a true one; she really did get sick of having to work with other people's scraps. Privately, Shawnie had been putting two-and-two together, and wasn't at all liking what it was adding up to, and was about to confront her with it. Either way, things had been snowballing to a crescendo. The sad thing is that Josephine honestly meant well.
The only reason even I didn't realize it faster, was because the damage individually was minimal, for each one of Josephine's little lessons. Over time though, the cumulative harm was catastrophic. Oh Goddess, Chris, how much damage has this woman done to you!
